


Caring Is Not The Disadvantage You Thought It Was, Sherlock

by Adlocked



Series: The Dominatrix That Brought The Consulting Detective To His Knees [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 15:05:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2196375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adlocked/pseuds/Adlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year after Sherlock Holmes came back to life... An old friend came to visit. Angst ensues and major feels...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Text That Started It All

[text: Virgin] Dinner, Mr. Holmes?

Sherlock glanced down at his mobile after hearing the all too familiar text alert. For a moment, he simply ignored it and went back to staring at the ceiling. Then, after a few minutes, boredom and curiosity got the better of him and he picked up his phone.  
[text: The Woman] Not hungry -SH

[text: Virgin] Who said you had to eat?

[text: The Woman] That's generally what dinner implies, not that you would use the implied meaning of anything. So, still not hungry -SH

[text: Virgin] Fine...  
[text: Virgin] I eat, you work?

[text: The Woman] ...If you must. -SH  
[text: Virgin] I must..

[text: The Woman] What, exactly, are you looking for tonight, Miss Adler? -SH

[text: Virgin] You're the genius...You tell me.

[text: The Woman] ...You're aware that John moved out, I'm sure. -SH

[text: Virgin] I might've read about that…

[text: The Woman] However, given the time between his moving out and your texting me, I can't assume the two are actually related. -SH  
[text: The Woman] But, I can assume that you've either gotten yourself into trouble, or plan to very soon. -SH

[text: Virgin] You know me too well, Mr. Holmes…

[text: The Woman] Now you require assistance, I assume. -SH

[text: Virgin] No…  
[text: Virgin] Your bed's comfortable.

[text: The Woman] … -SH  
[text: The Woman] The door is unlocked. -SH

[text: Virgin] I used the window.

[text: The Woman] Understand how not surprised I am. -SH

[text: Virgin]] I have.

[text: The Woman] So, you're just going to hide in my flat now? Lovely. -SH

[text: Virgin] You could always come find me…

[text: The Woman] How about no? -SH

[text: Virgin] Tired already, Mr. Holmes?

[text: The Woman] Laying on the couch, actually. However, you're upstairs in John's old room, aren't you? -SH

[text: Virgin] Yours, actually.

[text: The Woman] Get. Out. -SH

[text: Virgin] Found your riding crop…

[text: The Woman] Stay put, stop touching things! -SH

[text: Virgin] Or what'll you do, Mr. Holmes?

[text: The Woman] Certainly something. -SH

[text: Virgin] Give a gal a hint…

[text: The Woman] It will involve me getting off my couch. -SH

[text: Virgin] It's a start…


	2. Be Careful Making Wishes In The Dark...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irene's back and she's full of questions. And, Sherlock hopes, full of answers.

Groaning and cursing, Sherlock forced himself off the couch knocking several cold case files off his lap and sending them scattering across the floor. Having stayed in one position so long, his joints popped as he crossed through the sea of discarded mugs and abandoned books that littered the floor. He didn't know what he had been thinking in inviting Irene over, but he blamed it on the the nauseating boredom that had settled in his brain.  
As per usual, his bedroom door was left halfway open and he gave it a gentle kick with his bare foot. Sherlock wasn't entirely sure what he planned to do, but he knew he had to do something. Still, he assumed he would figure it out as he went along.  
"Out," he said, leaning against the doorframe.  
Irene was lounged under the blankets of his bed, hair loose and spread behind her like a pool of brown locks. She was in her usual cream colored dress, legs crossed at the ankles and grey piercing eyes locking on his. Of course, he didn’t need to see that to know that she was wearing the same outfit she’d been wearing from photos Mycroft had given him.  
"Mm, I don't think so... I'm rather comfortable here."  
Sherlock kept his composure, staring down at her. She didn't look like she was in any sort of danger, as always she looked perfectly immaculate whereas he was wearing two day old lounge clothes and his housecoat. "That's my bed, as you're well aware. If you absolutely must lay somewhere I have a delightful couch or rug that you can use. Or, there's a sidewalk outside.”  
"Oh I've missed your tongue..." She grinned wickedly, gleam in her eyes as she nestled deeper into the covers and winked. "Of course, you don't use this so I thought someone should."  
"Don't use what? My bed? I assure you I use it almost three times a week." She was so confident, so flirtatious, and Sherlock didn't know how to take it. He crossed over the room, looking down at her. "Did you want something or just my bed?"  
"What, unable to deduce me this time, Mr. Holmes?" Irene teased, sitting up and tossing the blankets off her, sitting Indian-style. For the thousandth time she was glad she chose not to wear knickers. She wanted him as uneasy as possible. It made the game so much more fun…  
Sherlock kept his gaze focused on her, defiant as though challenging her. This was the first he'd spoke to he since had died, he wasn't entirely sure where to go with it. "You want to be a pain, currently craving attention."  
They weren't actual deductions, his brain was still in a bit of a haze. Mostly, they were just to try to get under her. "As can be noted by the lack of proper undergarments. You're alone and wanting someone to pet you."  
"Do you think me a dog, Mr. Holmes? A pet that needs to be stroked and coddled like a child?" Her eyes narrowed, anger and hurt flashing through her eyes. "I am no pet, nor am I in the mood for these 'games' you think I desire to play!"  
"Pet as in crave attention," Sherlock clarified calmly. There was no use in upsetting Irene, she was even harder to deduce when she was angry. As though she wasn’t hard enough to read already. It didn’t help that the recent events had left him slightly frustrated, John moving out and his lack of cases.  
"If you're not in the mood for games then why show up in my bed, pantiless, with my riding crop? Seems you're in the mood for games, but only if they follow your rules."  
"Mmm... I like to surround myself with familiar things when I'm worried. Riding crop: check. Genius: check. Ridiculous comments that are rather offensive... Check." Irene's lips pursed as she scrutinized her detective, who only nodded slightly.  
"So, you're worried." Well, that made sense. This was probably more than a mere social visit and he couldn't explain why that made his stomach turn. "And you're expecting me to help? Or, rather, exist to make you comfortable?"  
“Mr. Holmes, I think we're good on the sarcastic quips from your end, hmm? So, why don't you just leave them to me..." Irene sighed, scowling at him.  
"Forgive my manners," he said duly and sat himself down on the edge of the bed, folding his hands over his lap. "What is it that has you breaking into my house? Taking the most unconventional methods to get in," he paused, his lips twitching in a smirk, "pet?"  
"I was bored, Mr. Holmes... I wanted to play... Don't tell me I've grown tiresome to you already? I'm just getting started... Master."  
Sherlock rolled his eyes, attempting to suppress a surge of excitement that passed through him. He cleared his throat, his eyes flickering away for half a second. "And what do you plan to do?"  
"Whatever you allow, Mister Holmes... And we can stop at any time if you want... If you say please."  
"So, all I have to do is say please and you'll stop?" What was that? The most humiliating, could he call it a safe word? The most humiliating safe word she could think of? He hated asking for things and hated saying please. Still, his shoulders relaxed slightly like he was somehow giving a sort of permission.  
"Yes. But I assure you, Mr. Holmes... You won't want to... No one ever does want to... Not with me playing..."  
Sherlock smirked. "I wouldn't count on it." Of course, Sherlock's experience with playing was… limited. Though he didn't let his nerves show much on his face. "And your plan is what and why?"  
She sat up on her knees, taking the tip of the crop and offering him the handle. "You tell me, Mr. Holmes... You're the detective... Detect."  
Gently, Sherlock took the crop and shivered. He remembered the feel of it on his skin and it felt surprisingly heavy in his hands, like it didn't belong there. "Are you angry," he finally asked, remembering John's reaction to him being alive. "Havin to discover I was alive through the press?"   
“On the contrary... I knew you lived. No one who beat me would kill themselves... No, you were alive and planning. Just like I was."  
So, she was smart enough to catch onto that. Perhaps he had underestimated her, probably not a wise move. "So, you're not angry," he said, furrowing his brow and running the leather crop around his fingers.  
"Are you mad... Did you want me angry? Did you want me mad? Did you want me... To yell, slap you, do everything I could to tease and hurt you?"  
Sherlock paused, for once unsure. He wasn't sure what he wanted or had expected, and having it asked so bluntly gave him a bizarre sense of embarrassment and strange, possibly misplaced, shame. "You didn't answer," he finally said, still looking directly at her.  
“You don't want me to... You like the mystery. The intrigue... After all,that's what I do... That's why I'm The Woman."  
God, he hated her being right sometimes. So, he didn't allow it. "I like finding the answer to mysteries." Of course, that was part of why he liked Irene. She was forever a mystery.   
Silently, he looked down to the crop for a moment before holding it out to her.  
“Mmm, I think I prefer find to find out how you use it... After all, I'm just your pet, remember?" Irene's smile became more devious by the second, eyes glinting. "Or have roles changed?”  
Something felt wrong about holding the crop, like it was some power he wasn't supposed to have. Sherlock couldn't help but wonder if it was some kind of weakness, not wanting to yield the crop. He paused, trying to figure out her motive and move. "I wasn't aware we had roles."   
“You're the one that assigned them, Mister Holmes... Or do you want to be oblivious to all things concerning me?"  
"I don't recall having that conversation," he mumbled, setting the crop down in his lap and looking her over. "Do you want to be hit? Feel you've done something that warrants that?"  
She cocked her head, smile still on her lips. "Come now, Mr. Holmes... You know me better than that, don't you? Or even with clothes on, can you not deduce me?"  
She was infuriating and difficult. He was certain that most clues on her clothing would be placed to deliberately mislead him. Was this meant to make him feel awkward? Reaching out, he tangled his hand in her hair, tilting his head slightly. "You're usually such a blunt woman, cat got your tongue tonight?"  
"Mmm, I want to see how well your detective skills are.. I hear so much about them but I don't get to see them. What better way than to have you deduce yourself?" Irene teased. Oh he wanted to get physical, did he? Well she could do that. Yes, she could do that quite nicely…  
"Deduce myself," Sherlock repeated. The smirk he'd worn when Irene first got there was long gone. Sherlock rarely liked to look at himself too long, for fear of what he would find. "What am I looking for?"  
"You... Tell... Me..." She retaliated, grabbing his wrist and pinning it behind his back, her other hand fisting in his curls and pulling his head back so he had no choice but to look up at her. "We should never try to dominate a dominatrix, should we?"  
Oh, this was a change. Sherlock let out a small whimper of surprise, leaning his head back and following her physical direction. He struggled for a moment to speak, his scalp a bit sensitive. "You don't want any kind of punishment or any sort of revenge," he managed, staring up at the ceiling. "You're craving a sort of power, control. What is it? Business slow?"  
"Oh just bad reactions to people who attempt to take control of situations." Irene teased, nails scraping his scalp. "It's a habit.. Dominating everyone I meet. I'm surprised you're letting this happen though..."  
Bad reactions? Sherlock's brain started over working, thinking of all the possibilities. He tried to focus, but the feeling of Irene's nails on his skin was distracting him. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to block it out. "Alright, not the hair, just...not my hair." Maybe then he could rationally think.  
Her grip went lax, eyebrow arched. "Tell me something, Mr. Holmes... Why so dull? Didn't you ever fancy someone? A girl, a man... Don't tell me it was John..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, it's getting more and more done. Still more to come xD


	3. Tell Me Your Secrets, I'll Tell You My Fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irene's just playing with her detective and she's just enjoying this /so/ much..

Sherlock relaxed a bit and patted down his hair. He could still feel Irene's hands gripping and pulling, despite the fact that her hand had left. "I've never had the time for such frivolous things. And, no, not John. He's married. In any case, sentiment will rarely become an asset."  
"Surely there's one lass or lad you got your eye on... After all, you are a man... Surely you have urges?"  
Urges? Sure. He was still a man, it was just that he could usually distract himself from that instinctual itch until it went away. "No one can really hold my attention for that long." Besides that, he didn't do well letting go of himself. He couldn't slow his brain down long enough to be with anyone for too long. He couldn't be still or stop thinking.  
"I'm hurt, Mr. Holmes... Don't tell me that you'll grow tired of me? I thought I was forever going to have your attention..." Her lips turned into a pout. "Well I'll just have to try harder to keep your attention then, won't I."  
"Then you thought wrong and foolishly. I doubt anything could hold my attention forever. You know that as well as I do," he noted, rubbing at his hair again. Of course, everything Irene did would at least stay with him for a while.  
“Please, you and I both know whatever I do will capture your attention. It's a gift I have... It's like I can hold your attention no matter what I do. I like it.." She released him completely and nestled down back under the blankets. "I enjoy it, actually."  
Sherlock looked down at her. "Is that so?" he asked, leaning back and propping himself up on his hand. She did require attention, not focusing could lead to being drugged and waking up somewhere strange.  
“Very much so." She mused, nudging his leg with her foot. "I can do it with almost anyone I meet... More so with you, though. I'd call it a....Specialty of mine."  
“I'm your specialty," he asked, putting his hand over her ankle. The idea that she could do it with almost anyone made him feel oddly common, normal. Though he knew he was anything but. "Once you're figured out you'll cease to hold my attention," he bluntly told her, picking up the crop again and twirling it in his fingers.  
"But we both know you're never going to figure me out..." Irene purred, eyes scanning over his movements. "I'm an enigma. A puzzle for the ages...Schrodinger's cat... I'm two things at once."  
Sherlock tightened his grip on her ankle very slightly. Irene didn't have much of a history that he could find, so a fair bit of it was guesswork. "Give me time, Miss Adler."  
She raised an eyebrow, crossing her legs but leaving the leg he was touching, gripping ever-so-gently increasingly tight, untouched, unmoved in the slightest. "I've given you several years, Mr. Holmes..."  
And yet, she was still a frustrating individual, a puzzle with far too many missing pieces. "I know that you let your heart control your head," he said, moving up the bed slightly and increasing the pressure. "I know you have exceptions to your own sexuality. I know you have a need to control, which could stem from an unsatisfactory childhood, feeling out of control, a need to be the centre of someone's attention."  
He paused, thinking it over. "Except, the problem with that is that the submissive is the centre of attention. You crave attention, but avoid it. Should I continue?" It was all guesswork based on psychology and her job, just a theory, but he sounded confident.  
She scoffed, leaning forward. "Mr. Holmes...How much of that do you believe? How much of that is just a theory, a story pulled out of thin air and lies?"  
"You tell me," he said, not moving and keeping his eyes on her. "Of course, your face should tell me a lot." It was a bluff, but he wanted to see if she would react and see how much was right from that.  
"Well so far all I'm hearing is wrong, wrong and wrong..." She teased, silly grin on her lips as she kept her body relaxed and laid back.


	4. Hips Don't Lie And Neither Does Irene...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The safe word comes into play... And Sherlock never thought he'd have to say it more than once.

"All wrong?" That couldn't be right, could it? He had thought at least part of it was right. Irene's calmness frustrated him slightly and he frowned. Wrong. The word replayed in his head, echoing. "So, you had a perfectly satisfactory childhood and you don't seek attention?" If he was wrong then the opposite of what he'd said should, logically, be true.  
"Again...Wrong." She settled back into his bed, pulling her knees up as she watched him. It was fun, toying with him. Watching the wheels in his head turn and confuse him…  
Oh god she was frustrating. Sherlock could practically hear the gears in his brain turning while he tried to figure her out. His hand left her ankle, not wanting to touch her any longer. "So, you're a liar," he finally determined. "Regardless of what I say, right or wrong, there's no way to determine the truth when everything out of your mouth is a lie. A controlled and calculated lie."  
"Wrong once more..." She laughed. "My childhood was not happy, nor was it terrible. I don't like being in control and I don't like to give it up.."  
Well, at least there was something. Something that didn't tell him anything about her life or herself at all. "Of course you like being in control. That's what you're doing now, isn't it? Remaining in control?"  
"No, what I'm doing is keeping your interest.. Which is what I like to do." That was it. That was all she was doing. She was keeping his attention like he'd challenged her to do.  
Moving off the bed, Sherlock decided he wouldn't indulge her like this. Not when it was so frustrating. "I don't question your origins when you're not here. What does that tell you," He asked, tossing the crop to the floor.  
"They're telling me that you don't know enough about my present... So there's no reason to guess at my origins if you can't even figure out the view in front of you."  
Pausing, Sherlock looked over at her and raised an eyebrow. "Really? Because they're telling me that you don't matter," he lied calmly. She mattered, more than he could actually understand. He understood that he liked her around, despite the frustrations, but he didn't know what that means. "I would know if I cared."  
"No you wouldn't..." She giggled, shaking her locks as she stood up and walked to his closet, removing her dress and pulling on his purple shirt. "It's so droll... Wearing the same type of thing, day after day... How do you manage it?"  
He looked away from him, a part of him wanting to snatch his shirt away from her, but at the same time not wanting to stop her. He briefly glanced down at his dirty clothes, the same ones he had been in for a couple of days. "Is there a reason you're going through my closet, pet?"  
She looked at herself in the mirror, admiring the way it fit and buttoned it almost all the way up. "It seemed fun… There’s not much for the dead to do...As you know quite well."  
Turning to her Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest. She actually didn't look bad in his shirt and he hated that, he hated acknowledging that. More than anything he wanted to be able to lash out at her again, make her feel something other than a giggly sense of pride.  
"Fun? Playing dress up?" Sighing, he all but surrendered. "I take it you're not leaving tonight. John's room is upstairs, there's a bed, or the couch. And here I'd so hoped you were in danger."  
"Come now... I'm always in danger!" She prodded as she nudged him with her elbow as she passed by him, pulling her hair into a messy bun and keeping an eye on him through the corner or the piercing grey gaze. "That's why I'm so much fun to be around.”  
"You're in danger of becoming a nuisance," he mumbled half heartedly. Watching her flutter around the room, Sherlock so wished there had been a case now. Something to get his mind away from the way the silky fabric of his shirt fit around her frame. No, he told himself, focus, Sherlock, focus.  
She strode over to his dresser, picking up cufflinks and looking over them. "You've got a good collection... But I don't think I've seen you in diamonds before... Personally I think that's a good thing."  
All too quickly, Sherlock looked away. "They were for a wedding," he admitted. A wedding. John's wedding. He was reminded of the loneliness that had settled into the flat since he had returned, what with John living with his wife and all. That wasn't exactly what he wanted to be reminded of. "Now, are you quite finished touching my things? There's an order to it." Not, of course, that he was really stopping her. Just watching, waiting for her to finish.  
"I saw you there... Leaving early. It's not polite to leave a wedding early, Mr. Holmes..." Irene reprimanded, setting them down and replacing the object of her interest with a watch. "You did have a beautiful dance partner... What was her name again? Joanne.. Jenny.. Jean... Oh, Jeanine. Yes, that was it..."  
Swallowing, Sherlock closed his eyes for a second. It really wasn't a moment he wanted to be reminded of. For the first time in a very long time he had felt weak. The wedding had been fun at first, and then miserable. It was as though the exact moment he'd realised he didn't have to be alone, he was.  
"Please," he mumbled very quietly, as though it pained him to say it. He did remember what Irene had said earlier. 'Say please and I'll stop.' He held her to that.


	5. Just Cause I Said It Doesn't Mean That I Meant It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yep... This is a short one, but it'll pick up.

"She stole my dance, you know..." The word made her smile a bit. She did tell him he'd beg for mercy. Twice. Of course, this wasn't begging per say, but close enough. "I was going to tease John, show him glimpses of me but... Then you left. And... It was really no fun without you."  
Sherlock gritted his teeth, attempting to glare a hole in the wall. He could handle Irene frustrating him, teasing with her body and with information, but the last thing he wanted was to feel lonely again. It was a pathetic and stupid emotion. John was still his best friend, hell, he had actual friends, there was no reason for this gut wrenching feeling that seemed to engulf him if he paused long enough to think about it.  
"I believe I said stop," he told her, forcing his voice to be strong. "I, frankly, don't give a damn what you think she stole from you. I owe you nothing. Do you think she stole a kiss that was rightfully yours as well?” He spat out without thinking about it.  
"Come Mister Holmes, I'm surprised that you think so little of me... Thinking I would be so petty and jealous. I meant it merely in jest, though I forget jabs are lost on you... However, considering you think so poorly of me, I will do as you ask and leave. Au Revoir, Mr. Holmes... I daresay this'll be the last we see of each other."  
Sherlock paused, suddenly all too aware of his position and situation, as well as Irene's. He considered for a moment letting her walk out the door, and possibly his life. But, the problem he could see was that he still knew nothing about her. "You're still wearing my shirt," he pointed out, much calmer than he'd previously been.  
"I'll send it back. Dry-cleaned, of course. Wouldn't want to ruin yet another thing of yours." She shot, eyes narrowing. "Would I?"  
Again, Sherlock paused and attempted to gauge Irene's emotions, not a particularly easy task on the best of days but damn near impossible when she had managed to get him all worked up over virtually nothing. Sighing, defeated, Sherlock lowered his arms. "Stay," he calmly said, shaking his head. At least until he figured something out, whether it was her feelings or his own, he wanted her to stay. "Stay, sit, we're not finished." Not yet and certainly not like this.


	6. The Reason That You Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just before this, Sherlock has just been belittling Irene and she's finally had enough. We get a little softer side of Sherlock. But it's adorable so we deal with it, right?

"And when will we be finished? After you insult every part of me? After you spit out words that are meant to do nothing but hurt me? Or will it be after you once again show the world how vulnerable Irene Adler is without her precious security back-up!"  
Ah, of course. Sherlock finally felt like he understood something about The Woman, and he also felt a strange sense of guilt burning in his stomach. Sherlock wasn't one to ever consider someone's feelings, not until it was far too late. He looked down, struggling to find the correct words. For someone brilliant he was absolutely dreadful at times with words. Then he said something he despised saying, though there was no hint of that in his voice. He sounded oddly sincere. "I've hurt you."  
It sounded as though he didn't actually think it was a possible outcome and was shocked at himself for having been able to do it. "I apologise for that." There was no mocking in his voice. Just a very clear apology. He hated apologising. It made him feel like a child who didn't quite yet understand the world.  
“I don't need, nor want, an apology, Mr. Holmes. Apologies are pity and I am not the one in need of pity. You are... You're a sad, lonely man who destroys everything he touches! You know nothing of the world and you're an arrogant jerk who makes a living by showing off just how pompous he can be!"  
Irene regretted the words the second she hear them. But she couldn't stop them. They were pouring and they just kept coming! "You get off on nothing other than diminishing people and making them feel inadequate all because you didn't get hugged enough as a child. So if anyone should apologize, it's me.  
“For being stupid enough to bother with you when anyone can clearly see you're not worth it because all you do is nitpick at every little flaw a person has until they feel like nothing because all they see now is what's wrong with them because of you!"  
Sherlock stood, facing Irene, and taking the abusive of her words. He attempted not to let it show on his face how much, in fact, they did sting. Maybe she was right, maybe he did ruin everything he touched. Of course, he'd always known he wasn't like other people, and it was that difference that caused him to keep them away. Don't get close and you won't get hurt. But, he had started letting people in, and yet he was once again alone. He twitched slightly, staring at the wall behind Irene.  
He couldn't think of what to say that might, in any way, make anything at all even the slightest bit alright. "You're smarter than this," he finally said, narrowing his eyes. "You're smart enough to know that you're more than nothing. Smart enough to know precisely what you're worth, not in the currency your clients give you, but in another value." He spoke calmly, keeping his tone even.  
"You know exactly who you are, Irene Adler. Exactly what you are," he added in a softer tone. Pausing for half a beat he abandoned his pride for just a second. "Stay...please."  
"I can't, Mr. Holmes...My flight leaves tomorrow morning where a new life awaits me. I came to say good-bye and it seems I have..." She wanted to stay, God she wanted to stay. But sentiment.. Ah, sentiment was the defect he warned her of. The defect that brought down the lovely life she had built for herself. And she refused to give him the chance to steal her heart again.  
"So, this is it. The last meeting of The Woman and the Consulting Detective... I imagined it different. But all the same... Goodbye, Mr. Holmes." Irene held her hand out, wanting to shake the hand of the man who made her stronger, yet somehow, weaker.  
"Of course," he said, masking his disappointment. Irene would never be in one place too long, he knew that much. She couldn't bear the burden of a single city and that fact killed him. His mouth felt oddly dry as he reached out, taking her hand for a moment. Maybe it was John's influence or maybe it was something he couldn't quite explain to himself. Whatever the reason he only held her hand for a moment before pulling her in close to him, using his height to his advantage.  
Gently, he put his arms around her waist and it only took him a second to identify and memorize her perfume. "Goodbye, Miss Adler," he said, taking a breath and not allowing himself to explore his emotions right then. There would be time for that later, years perhaps. For now, he just let go of himself for a moment.


End file.
